


twisting reality

by volunteer_of_hufflepuff



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Gen, MCD, Sad Ending, Violence, a twist on canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteer_of_hufflepuff/pseuds/volunteer_of_hufflepuff
Summary: It is Magnus who told us, centuries after the events, that his mother killed herself because of his existence. But there was never any proof.A short account from the perspective of his mother, the day that she died.





	twisting reality

**Author's Note:**

> so I was scrolling through some [meta](http://psmith73.tumblr.com/post/165549790360/remember-i-told-you-how-i-found-my-mother-dead-by), saw this potential and was like. yes. I need to write that.
> 
> so here, have my angsty little drabble.
> 
> as always, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> thanks to [paperiuni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperiuni/pseuds/paperiuni) for betaing this!

The wind blows, and she collects the leaves.

She doesn’t like them, not particularly: they will grow soggy within several hours and she doesn’t like their coppery colour either.

There are better uses for her snatches of free time, instead of scavenging along the river near their home.

But her son adores them: his eyes light up whenever she comes back home with a basket full of shining leaves and he runs to her, his clothes too loose for his skinny frame, throwing his arms around her waist.

He is still so small, and there isn’t anything that she wouldn’t do for him.

Her son is her only sliver of hope, here, in this village that used to be her home but has now been crafted into a prison, thanks to the Dutch.

One who may legally her husband, but that does not endear him to her; for he still is one of them, still treats her with disgust and distrust.

She is not the worst off of them all: for at least she has her son, her sweet boy, who indirectly protects her from her husband’s vicious, wind-snapping rage.

There are eyes - golden, slitted eyes - glowing in the darkness when she comes back home.

Before fear ensnares her, there is a call.

“Mama!” And it is her son, from the place of the golden eyes.

And the fear retreats. If it is her son, surely the eyes are not a bad thing. Or perhaps this is all an illusion.

She does not, however, immediately go towards her son. She needs to pick something up for her husband: he will be angry, otherwise, and she does not want him to direct that anger towards her son.

It’s not fair, that she was forced into marriage: to a man from a people that spoke a language that she had not understood.

But at least she has her son.

As she turns, escaping the gaze of her son, something sharp plunges into her chest.

She looks down, trying to control her breathing: she does not want to scream, not when her son is still so close.

“You birthed an abomination,” a voice hisses from behind her - it is her husband, she realises, trying to not swallow the blood rising in her throat.

“He will be next,” he mutters - and he is leading her somewhere else, somewhere where she does not want to go.

But her strength is waning, and she cannot turn around.

Her husband lays her down in their bed, and there is the rustle of bedsheets, cool against the blood pooling against her skin.

 _I love you, my son_ , is the last thing she thinks before she drifts out of this world forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated x
> 
> In particular, I'm interested to see what people think of this turn of events, because it is inherently very fascinating.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://www.mirrorofliterature.tumblr.com) here.


End file.
